KKM 'On the Other Side'
by tigersilver
Summary: AU. This is PWP sequel to 'Kiss & Tell', with minor plotty bits for your amusement. By PWP, I do mean smuff. Against the wall smuff, in the bed smuff, and perhaps some on the floor smuff by and by. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

**KKM 'On the Other Side' Part 1**

The Mazoku on Yuuri's lap strained in desperation, the ridge of his back arched in an unbelievable curve, his long pale throat exposed as his head lolled back in a drunken fashion. He was perspiring heavily; the sweat a mist of translucent beads on flushed, fine-grained skin, dampening his striking hair to the color of antique gold and trickling down his heaving flanks in pearly droplets.

He breathed like a winded racehorse, in quick pants and long, drawn-out gasps that were amazingly erotic to the gasping young man bucking frantically below him. And he didn't stop, not once, not ever, raising himself again and again on the hardened, cum-slicked shaft his lover offered him, falling back so that the firm globes of his ass ground painfully against the bones of his fiancé's narrow pelvis and his soft thighs split so wide apart Yuuri was sure he'd snap in half. Neither was Wolfram von Bielefeld silent about his desire, gurgling Yuuri's name as the dark-haired boy met him more than halfway on the descending rush, moaning his need and his satisfaction deliriously as he slammed into the welcome impact like a feral animal.

They spoke in grunts, moans and little hissings, as lovers do.

It had been hours, seconds – _forever-- _ that Yuuri's fiancé had been engaged in this rocking, spine-shattering dance, his features gradually losing their sharpness and gravity and slowly sliding into a sensual mask of undiluted desire: long black eyelashes aflutter, moist lips parted, the intense and intelligent green of his eyes hazy and focused on nothing but his lover's eager face below. Only a moment before this endless moment he'd had that golden head bent down over his fiancé's flat belly, those lascivious pink lips stretched tight around Yuuri's cockhead. And only a moment before that eternal moment Yuuri had shivered through the Mazoku's sensuous and tactile exploration of flat berry-brown nipples and the planes and indentations of his youthful chest, the curves and whorls of his reddened ears, the length and corded muscle of his tanned neck. And his mouth, of course, gaping and ravaged, taken by sharp teeth, soft lips and a devilish tongue. A demon had lured his hapless victim securely into his sensuous grasp; a succubus loomed above Yuuri, wild and chaotic in his fiery magic.

It was elemental, purely so.

All of Yuuri, in fact, had gladly suffered Wolfram's avid attentions, until the Maou whimpered in abject need and shoved his fiancé away in desperation, struggling for both breath and composure.

But there was no room for composure, at least not in what remained lucid of Wolfram's overheated mind.

They'd started this very quickly – or rather, Wolfram had, literally attacking his fiancé before the door to their bedroom had even slammed shut. The determined Mazoku had Yuuri's black dinner jacket stripped off him in seconds and then was on to the fastening of Yuuri's slacks, undoing the catch and zipper in a way that rubbed his blunt knuckles against the Maou's defenseless privates, his velvet tongue all the while travelling the curve of the Maou's flinching shoulder through his fine cotton shirt, sliding without remorse or hesitation to the black-haired boy's sharp collarbone and the firm line of his jaw. Yuuri moaned, unable to bite the sound silent, and the manicured fingers of his fiancé became punishingly rough as they tore off Yuuri's white button-down.

Wolfram shucked his own blue jacket and high-collared tunic with a frantic hand, shrugging out of them as fast as possible so he could get to the buttons of his own uncomfortably strained trousers. Freed from the royal thong of nobility, the azure wool of his uniform pants sagging down hips white as cream, Wolfram's uncircumcised cock sprang out readily from a nest of wheaten curls, successfully capturing all of Yuuri's dazed attention for all the two seconds his beautiful 'Honey-chan' gave him to catch his breath and get ready.

Immediately, the Mazoku had pressed his mostly naked torso against Yuuri's quivering frame with all his considerable heat and hunger; had gotten as close to his semi-shocked, semi-hard and semi-speechless fiancé as he could possibly manage, undulating his pelvis meaningfully and blowing devilishly into Yuuri's red-hot ear; swiveling the bones of his urgent hips against the sputtering Maou in a way that clearly indicated he wanted something and wanted it _now _– something only the Maou could give. There was no doubt in Yuuri's stupefied mind that the 'something' Wolf-chan wanted would be far more satisfying than the quick, bloodless peck he'd given his fiancé before breakfast.

_Wolfram_ _wanted_. Yuuri reeled at the ramifications of the concept and fell back against the wall by the tall armoire, his black eyes wide as saucers as his slightly shorter fiancé proceeded to kiss him within an inch of his life, twining rough-smooth hands into Yuuri's tumbled black locks and holding his head steady, locking lips as if they'd never be parted—would die of kissing, sharing their last breath together. Wolf-chan was hard as the proverbial rock – had probably been so all day, the Maou realized, trembling_ --_- and then Yuuri found he couldn't think coherently at all with that gorgeous erection sawing so insistently into his own responsive crotch, grinding with lush intimacy against Yuuri's own rapidly rising arousal.

He'd given in to the unstoppable force of his demon fiancé without so much as a contrary syllable, wordlessly allowing Wolf to finish forcibly stripping the both of them and then guide him aggressively towards their bed.

There was something about those hands--tender and needy, calloused and gentle--that convinced the hesitant Maou to lie back without question and let Wolf have his way; some gleam in those feverish and determined green eyes regarding him so seriously that ripped away all of Yuuri's natural reticence and shyness and tossed it casually into the nearest waste can as so much rubbish. Wolf-chan obviously _wanted_ to love Yuuri; desired it so strongly he'd not even the words to express it, and thus Yuuri ducked his head and gave in submissively, rolling over on his back and showing Wolf his belly, just as he nearly always did when it came anything his fiancé might desire. 

Yuuri wasn't terribly experienced at the art of love, though they'd done it more times than he could count using all digits. He wasn't sure if he was any good at it yet, but he wanted to be, for Wolfram. Thus, he poured all his youthful energies into returning Wolf-chan's steamy-hot caresses, in the comfortable knowledge he'd get better with practice, and feeling positive that one day he'd manage to give his lover back a full one hundred percent of the incredible, unearthly pleasure given him.

But even Yuuri – young, horny, deeply in love, the greatest Maou ever - could not match the level of his fire-wielding fiancé's elemental desire. Wolfram had triumphed over the situation in moments, his quick, sharp movements dominating all that came after. He'd clambered atop the now naked and very willing Maou, putting hands and mouth everywhere he could reach and contorting his slender body to touch anything that remained hidden, and claimed all that lay quivering beneath him for his own. Yuuri contented himself at first with groaning his delight and stroking bared skin revealed to be soft as an infant's, running soothing palms down the heaving ridges of Wolf's ribs and kissing his fiancé with bashful fervor whenever that flushed face came near enough to kiss.

Wolfram blushed daintily when he was touched in return, when tentative, untrained fingertips mirrored his own greedy invasion of Yuuri's body. It was like being fondled by raw electricity, he found; it made him shake and shiver and filled his body with a humming, thrumming fire that obliterated any remnants of his natural, noble reserve. It was nearly unbearable to stay sane and yet he craved such madness, and threw himself against Yuuri's mouth and fingertips and torso wholeheartedly, blindly accepting his own weakness and struggling to give his Yuuri back even a tenth of that unparalleled pleasure.

The teenage Maou was full of a breathless admiration the entire time; his fiancé, so beautiful that he could rouse the dying, was even more stunning in the throes of passion. Wolfram was as fierce in love as he was in combat, forceful and expedient and utterly overwhelming, gentle to his captive. There was no way anyone – any woman – any other _being_ - could ever match him, Yuuri was convinced. And it seemed Wolfram was out to prove the boundless depths of his desire this night, for Yuuri had never in his life or his sometimes lurid teenage imagination received such devoted and lewd service as he did then.

Those enticing lips were starving, it seemed, for the taste of fresh young Maou; that long scarlet tongue was champion at swirling and sucking, for it engulfed Yuuri entirely, quivering tip to humid hilt, and Yuuri was treated to quite possibly the best blowjob in the universe, till his mind went spastic and a pouting Wolf gagged on the briny spurts bubbling up and overflowing down his swallowing throat. He pulled away at that very last throbbing moment, leaving the black-eyed boy beneath him jerking uncontrollably on the bed, grimacing as he filled Wolf's hard fist with his cum.

But it wasn't over; by no means was it over. Absolutely _not_. Yuuri's shaking hand was grabbed, clenched fingers forced apart and wrapped swiftly around his fiancé's own sticky erection and then dampened further with the remains of his own slimy cum. Then his hand was somehow entwined with his fiancé's and together they probed that place Yuuri knew from raw and recent experience signified heaven and hell and all that actually mattered to the insatiable beast that rose inevitably from between his twitchy thighs. He was erect again in seconds, scent and flesh and green eyes charming him into full tumescence.

Wolfram sheathed him abruptly; took him, consumed him—very nearly raped him, except that Yuuri was more than willing. Wolfram was tight, like a Temple Virgin, and hotter than all the levels of hell. Yuuri nearly swooned.

Yuuri was lost to reason then, completely, babbling out words that made no sense but still managed to express Wolfram's paramount importance in Yuuri's life; his incredible, edible sexiness; the well-known and undeniable fact that Yuuri would do absolutely anything to have him and to keep him, up to and including dying for love. Emerald eyes seething with sweet, hot emotion turned toward Yuuri's idiot expression and the Maou found himself sat upon very hard while he was still struggling to articulate how much Wolf made him happy. The sudden, enveloping pressure hurt like the dickens at first and the Maou had to move fast to get his fingers out of the way and back where they should be, wrapped tight around his lover's heavy cock.

He didn't know much – most of it was book-learning – but after the initial moment of adjustment there was an instinctual urge to move. Very gently, so slowly that Wolfram snarled at him and nipped him hard on one shoulder, Yuuri did just that. He rocked his pelvis as the waves play with a boat in a bay: teasing, playfully, with only a bare minimum of their power. And then he lost control over the situation – if he'd ever had it – for the green eyes glittered and Wolfram clenched around him and then pushed himself up on bony knees, pulling almost entirely away for one single heart-stopping moment and then forcing himself down, down, till their pubic hairs mingled blonde-on-black and Yuuri's jaw dropped smack on his damp chest in a grunt of pleasure. And then Wolf grinned maniacally, grunting as well as he scaled the rigid tower of Yuuri's passion and causing his fiancé to completely forget how to inhale, gliding down slow as liquid satin at the penultimate moment, only to rise again, endlessly, endlessly, till they were both ensnared in a rhythm older than the hills and as sturdy and everlasting as the stone walls around them.

Slam! The bones of their boyish hips knocked together. Wolf winced almost imperceptibly and daintily adjusted his seat. _Slam!_ Yuuri went up farther to meet him this time, ass off the bed in his beckoning arc, inhaling a great draught of sweet oxygen as he did so, all abruptly exhaled when Wolfram swiveled hard back down onto his flinching abdomen. There was stuttering pause as Wolf-chan's hands clenched at numbing blow of Yuuri so deep inside him, nails biting sharply into palms roughened with swordplay, and then sighed with relief when Yuuri grabbed him and effortlessly hauled him upright. He murmured vaguely at the kindness and then shrugged out of the Maou's grasp to repeat the whole process, newly born trails of tears trickling down his determined face.

It wasn't pain exactly, Wolfram acknowledged; it was more like being born again and again, with all delightful violence that entailed. He'd wither into dust without it.

Yuuri wouldn't allow such violence, instinctively afraid that his ever-reckless Wolf-chan would injure himself with this vaguely masochistic enthusiasm. When Wolf plummeted the next time there were loving hands to catch him, grip his upper arms firmly and guide him as he rose and plunged.

Some part of Wolfram-the-Arrogant was tempted to fight those hands; he desired proof, above all, that Yuuri wanted him badly enough not to care about the usual courtesies. But there was also the romantic and the practical to consider – if he were torn and bleeding by the end of this, Yuuri wouldn't touch him again for days; if he cooperated, he could allow himself to be cared for, to be treasured – to be loved.

They moved as one, in silent agreement, meshing together ever faster to the inaudible beat, and the slick walls that held Yuuri so jealously close now tightened and rippled in time to the intoxicating rhythm. Wolf began to hum - or purr or growl - deep in his chest, his lashes drifting nearly shut, lambent green slits of sinful satisfaction, and Yuuri could not look away, nor even blink, watching Wolfram. The Maou was entranced, quite literally, and there was none other that could ever hope to ensorcel him the way his fiancé did.

There were no words left in either of their heads to properly describe the sensation. Slipping and sliding, stumbling blindly ever closer to the brink, only to dance back, shimmy, and allow this blatant carnal taunting of the senses to continue. Flying low, dipping wingtips in the magma flow—oh, so pretty; pulling back, their inchoate kisses strung together with saliva, only to bloom again as the darkest rose in the garden.

There was blood on Wolfram's lip as he lunged.

Were they one? Were they two, only molded by time and circumstance and serendipity so seamlessly together the edges were no longer apparent? Had it always been like this, simmering livid just below the flawed surface of daily activity, and it was only now that they could truly see their conjoined image? Or was this fate, forgone and ordained, and all their petty dissimilarities only a fog obscuring a mountain of immense proportions, everlasting and obdurate? It mattered not: this was flesh pounding flesh, fluids gathering like storm clouds, all awareness of _why?_ or _what if?_ deleted in the scorching mirage of one body, one heart.

But even the greatest wave crashes…eventually. Yuuri grunted in displeasure at the sneaking realization he was far too close, and far too soon. He hadn't enough experience to hold it all in for this long. He'd cum if he wasn't careful and he was positive Wolf-chan wasn't ready yet, no matter how ecstatic he might appear. His demon fiancé had a sensual endurance rivaling the longevity of Conrad's smile and could go for hours after Yuuri was reduced to wheezing with effort and pleading only for the chance to sleep and recover. He desperately shut his eyes to block out the vision above him in a dashing last-ditch effort, gritting his teeth and knowing full well that if he gazed any longer at such a Wolfram he'd shoot his load immediately and then it would, indeed, be all be resoundingly over.

Shibuya Yuuri didn't want it to be over – he wanted Wolf to be happy. Even if that meant some modicum of control.

"Yuuri!"

Wolf wasn't having it, this sudden and stupid restraint of his fiancé's. He wrenched his upper arms out of Yuuri's grip and leaned in, agitated, still writhing, still rocking. He grabbed at Yuuri's chin with slick fingers and gripped it, holding it steady for a lengthy and very sloppy kiss that screamed 'Look at me!' The breathless, almost-at-his-limit teenage Maou simply had to. He cracked his dark eyes open, gazing up through tangled lashes at the flushed, damp beauty who had him enthralled in every way known to man or Mazoku, and was overcome once more simply by the way Wolfram was watching him.

It made the black-haired boy pause, though his hips still moved with the rapidity of a machine-gun, tossing Wolfram high and catching him in the cradle of his pelvis. It washed over Yuuri like warm honey, the heavy sweetness tangy and fresh, never cloying.

His chest felt full to bursting, happiness bubbling up through his very cellular structure, tickling him from the inside, in delicious counterpoint to the intoxicating rush of heat that surged through his groin. Yuuri nearly laughed aloud, clamping his mouth shut against it only because Wolf-chan was notoriously touchy and probably wouldn't react well if his lover guffawed at a time like this. Besides, this was no laughing matter. He was going to cum.

"Damn…it! Yuur-riiii!"

The menacingly lovely demon shouted through gritted teeth, deliberately taking the throbbing cock that caressed him even deeper. He clenched his ass cheeks in retaliation for Yuuri's inattention and Yuuri's eyeballs bugged out.

He'd been right, hadn't he? Oh, shit!

"Ahhhnnngh!"

It was a strangled cry of frustration.

"Oh_, please_, Wolf!"

Yuuri's hips roiled, seeking the return of that delicious slide of slick flesh against flesh but he was held captive at his most vulnerable juncture, unable to move.

"Stop…. godsdamned…_ thinking!_" Wolf-chan roared, jabbing his forefinger at Yuuri's scrunched-up face. "_Look…at_…_**me**_**!**"

The green-eyed youth flexed his supple spine in emphasis and the movement shivered down his sweat-slick torso and reverberated against the wickedly sensitive member buried deep inside him. It throbbed and Yuuri choked and gasped and snorted, overcome by it being Wolfram atop him, it being Wolfram who wanted—and he being fortunate enough for that to ever happen in any world the gods dreamt of.

"Look at me, Yuuri—only me," Wolf pleaded, and the jab of the accusatory forefinger became the softest caress across Yuuri's parted lips.

Yuuri giggled foolishly, the high nervous sound trickling out his nostrils. How could he _not look_ when his Wolf-chan was so demanding? How could he possibly do anything _else_?


	2. Chapter 2

**KKM On the Other Side Part 2**

As it was, Yuuri spent all his time looking, black eyes following that bright blond head about the Castle and its environs the exact same way his Mom's fond gaze trailed after his Dad. He was smitten, a fool for love; everybody knew it, though apparently Wolf-chan had trouble believing it for longer than five minutes at a time. And he was happier than ever these days, now that the cruel uncertainty was past - now that they'd finally settled things between them and Wolf-chan was really, truly his.

It was so good, being together. Yuuri was officially 'loved' as well as 'affianced', petted and fondled and adored with every inch of the blonde's sensuous body, often and well. Of course, he still didn't quite understand how his prim-and-proper Wolfram could get this excited this easily, every night, every dawn, every opportunity – and over _him_ of all people, because, by Shinou's Sword, if there was anything Yuuri _wasn't_, it was sexy.

But he must be – at least a little – _or something_ – maybe Wolf had poor taste in men? – well, _whatever_ - because his utterly fuckable fiancé hasn't stopped, riding Yuuri like the expert horseman he was, moaning and trembling in obvious pleasure, his sweat-streaked thighs shaking as he drove his tight little ass down and up. Two skilled hands snuck out suddenly and tweaked Yuuri's achy nipples, twisting the brownish nubs to the 'ecstasy' channel.

"Look at me, Yuuri—don't stop!" Wolf begged, though he didn't need to--_no_. Yuuri hadn't glanced away for a second. And Wolf did that twisting move he had, as though Yuuri were a socket and he a lightbulb, screwing himself in securely and making the whole world glow ineffably.

Yuuri howled, his voice cutting in and out as he yodeled to the canopy just how fucking wonderful this moment – _his_ fiancé – life in general - was. His blunt nails punctured the linens on the final crescendo but still…somehow, amazingly, he hadn't ejaculated yet, though he was sure as shit going to, as soon as his tortured lungs remembered what to do with this stuff called 'oxygen'.

An exultant Wolfram brought his shaking hands to Yuuri's sweat-slick shoulders, angling low, proud blonde head bowed forward just enough to coax Yuuri into one final kiss before cumming. Blood welled where he'd worried his full bottom lip nearly threadbare during their marathon bout of foreplay. Yuuri's dazed eyes caught sight of the tiny wound that marred the perfection of Wolfram's eminently kissable mouth and, with Grail-like certainty, he knew he had to kiss those bee-stung mounds of swollen rose once more; bring healing comfort to his Honey-chan.

Still managing to match Wolfram's every hammering thrust, Yuuri valiantly edged himself into a somewhat more vertical sprawl against the luxuriant mound of pillows his bed came equipped with, marveling all the while that he had the strength to move at all, and yanked Wolf fully against him, vowing silently to stay connected no matter what. The salty smear was tongued away gently and soft lips were laid against the ragged skin with care…and a flash of blueish-lime lightning.

It was the last straw for Wolfram, that 'Yuuri hug', that 'Yuuri kiss' – and especially the gentle jolt of magical lightning that raised every hair on his tousled head. He sobbed once into Yuuri's neck and convulsed, twitching and keening as though he were coming apart at the very seams of his existence and tightening so hard on Yuuri that the Maou couldn't hold himself back one more millisecond. Yuuri let go with a anguished shout, some part of his mind that was far off and watching benevolently over the happenings in the Royal Bedroom quite pleased with him for having exerted such unusual control in the face of a loving Wolfram.

It was a momentous feeling, cumming in Wolfram von Bielefeld, as it always was. Wolfram was silk inside, slippery and hot and cloaking Yuuri in sensation so indescribably excellent he was literally awed by it. He could feel himself pushing and pulsing, the white-hot stream shooting out in webby gobbets, pumping Wolfram full of his essence, his love. His conscious mind fragmented, rended by the force that washed through him and was sent eddying madly into little whirlwinds of pleasure and bone-deep content.

And then he passed out, or at least fell back boneless and utterly wasted; Wolfram, equally feeble, rolling off him and subsiding in a cum-spattered, sweat-drenched heap at Yuuri's side, weak as one of Gwendal's precious kittens.

*

The soon-to-be-married lay in their steaming pre-nuptial bed for a while, not speaking, only vaguely remembering to breathe and blink and urge the blood to flow back from their privates and into their braincases.

"Wow!" was the first thing Yuuri managed to say, quite a long time later.

The candles had guttered in their sconces and the room was bathed in a faint, wavery light. It was the wee hours of the morning and Yuuri was pretty sure the only people still awake in Blood Pledge Castle were he and Wolfram. Well, maybe some guards, but he hoped they weren't patrolling this particular hallway. He clearly remembered being kind of embarrassingly loud.

Wolfram didn't bother to answer; he merely snorted softly, but Yuuri could tell it was a pleased sound. The Maou edged himself sideways after a minute, still not completely in control of his body, and rested his chin approximately on top of Wolfram's sweat-streaked blonde mane, dampening it a little more with post-coital drool.

"That was…."

Yuuri managed to get this additional information out of his rubbery lips after another interminable time. Wolf had fallen into a light doze in the interim, knowing enough not to talk after sex.

"That was… _really—"_

With some conscious breath control, Yuuri found he could emphasize basic concepts, so he did.

"Y'know, _thingy_."

What with intonation, he'd forgotten his vocabulary word, the one he was striving to use for telling Wolf he was beyond such mundane emotions as 'happy'. Wolfram ignored him and thought about sleeping instead, but his still excited body vehemently disagreed. If he could get Yuuri started again (a fairly easy process), then Yuuri was usually more than willing to go a few more rounds. Tonight, Wolfram felt as though he could fuck forever, die of it, even.

"Incredible!"

Yuuri blurted out his word finally, and it lay shimmering in the cum-scented humidity between them just like his trademark 'Justice!' would've, large and final and a pronouncement so blindingly obvious and self-evident everyone would acknowledge the merit of his judgment. He gave his fiancé a fond and fumbling squeeze with fingers that still tingled and tilted his head, just enough motion to rest his lips on Wolfram's golden crown, bumbling on without any consideration for personal safety.

"Where'd you lear—?"

Fortunately he caught himself, fortunately, but the combat-trained Mazoku still stiffened dangerously against him, hissing faintly through his teeth as Yuuri's almost question filtered into his soggy brain.

"….Excuse me?"

The blonde head turned sharply and Yuuri was reminded of a rattlesnake for some reason, not that he had a lot of experience with those. Still, it seemed to suit the beady-eyed way Wolf-chan was regarding him: suspicious, hostile, and verging on a temper. The Maou stuttered, instantly going into damage-control mode, his tone over-bright as he scrambled for something safe to comment on.

"…Eh-heh. Um. Yes. Anyway, that – it - _you_ were _wonderful_, Wolf-chan, but you should let me do more of the—"

If it was possible, the ex-Prince went even more rigid. His face, which had been relaxed and still flushed with leftover pleasure a second before, went thin and angular with severe annoyance. The lush green of his eyes took on a certain warning glint. The dark-eyed boy halted again, swallowing back whatever inane drivel he'd spout next, painfully aware he was somehow saying the wrong thing – things! – but not quite sure what to say to make it better.

How hard could it be to tell Wolf he was in love and Wolf was perfect in every way—even in his flaws?

It was strange. Wolf-chan was excessively touchy when it came to speaking of any of the people he'd…well, he'd 'dated' before Yuuri arrived in Shin Makoku. It was as if he preferred to pretend his obvious experience with all things sexual had sprung up out of nowhere; that it was innate and not learned. He was even more irritable if Yuuri dared praise him verbally for how skilled he was at certain things – like fellatio or some of the more acrobatic positions they'd experimented with, or even the gods-given fact that he was a stunningly beautiful person and even more so during sex. He was dangerously edgy all around whenever Yuuri contemplated discussing – complimenting, remarking on - the more physical aspects of their relationship – which wasn't often, granted, because Yuuri would actually rather volunteer for Anissina than sit down for an honest heart-to-heart with Wolfram about how maybe next time Yuuri'd like to do it in the art studio and did Wolf-chan mind if he brought K-Y and flavored condoms back from Earth?

Yup, it was as if his arrogant, over-confident fiancé was embarrassed or insecure or some other weird Mazoku emotion Yuuri didn't seem to get in his admitted naïveté about relationships. Wolf-chan was just so much more obviously interested in simply doing it than discussing it, something Yuuri guiltily understood, even as he realized that honest communication would do wonders to ease his fiancé's lingering, unspoken unease.

Geez, really, think about it: they were barely-legal male teenagers, at least in _his_ world, fucking each other like there was no tomorrow, mated in every way possible – further, they were going to tie the knot on a gay (gay! as in 'homosexual! As in all his friends in Japan would probably look at him funny for the rest of his life!) marriage any minute now with the outspoken blessing of all their friends and family. And, to add to their 'sins' of sex before marriage, they already had one lovely child out-of-wedlock already and he knew Wolf wanted more as soon as demonly possible….so, yeah, Yuuri thought---maybe they **should** talk a little? Discuss things? Share their feelings? If only to give Yuuri the opportunity to exclaim some more over Wolfram's amazing abilities?

Or maybe not. Wolf-chan, for all his overbearing attitude, was painfully shy when it came to expressing his softer, deeper emotions. Yuuri had had to learn how to translate what seemed to be a coded language: 'Wimp' actually meant 'Darling' or 'Lover'; 'Stupid idiot!' stood for 'I love you so much I can't stand it!' and those sizzling glances sent in his direction whenever Yuuri _was_ being wimpy or idiotic were simply the reversed and mirrored images of Wolf's loving passion for him. Confusing. Purely Wolfram.

But Yuuri could relate, at least on the subject of unease. Telling Wolf-chan his true feelings only happened spontaneously. Sure, he'd blurt it out whilst they were fucking like bunnies, but bring it up otherwise? No way! No, Yuuri talked circles around the subject even after gathering up all his courage and all too often foundered no matter how determined he was, his iceberg of love for his fiancé still mostly submerged. To be brutally honest, Yuuri admitted, the very thought of actually announcing his love aloud without being under the undue influence of lust, overwhelming male camaraderie or Greta made Yuuri want to crawl into a hole and stay there. That said, the Maou found himself saying it again.

"Well, what I mean is, I, erm, uh…_you_, hum," Yuuri swallowed a difficult lump in his throat and set the spurs to his courage. Expressionless green eyes watched him, though far back in the depths there was lurking an uncertainty that twanged at the teenager's sensitive heartstrings, releasing a jolt of what he needed right now: guts. True 'manliness'. The wherewithal to get the job done.

The Maou sucked in his breath.

"I-I_ love_ you. Okay?"

Wolf liked that; Yuuri could feel it. Some of the tension eased from the blonde's bare shoulders immediately and his lovely eyes, which had started to narrow to frightening slits of poison green, shed their nasty gleam. He smiled angelically and put his head back down on Yuuri's shoulder, snuggling closer, sighing inaudibly, incipient storm over before it really began.

Truth was, Wolf'd gotten exactly what he wanted, finally, without having to threaten his luckless fiancé into reluctantly coughing it up. Those three important words were far more crucial to his wellbeing than he could ever manage to express; he just wished that "I love you" would be the first thing out of Yuuri's mouth after sexual congress and not the last. It was embarrassing enough throwing himself at the dark-haired boy as if he were some whore off the narrow backstreets of the castle town, but to have Yuuri pay attention only to the mechanics of the act – that was unforgiveable.

Wolfram wanted it said aloud, this feeling—but by Yuuri damn it! He wanted Yuuri to communicate just how precious he was, how indispensible. He wanted to know beyond doubt that Yuuri was overcome the way _he _was, that Yuuri saw only _him_, not his sexual prowess; that this coming together of bodies was all about _love_ and not just sex education. Wolfram von Bielefeld was Yuuri's _fiancé_, not merely his lover or his concubine, and he honestly believed he deserved to be told often and publicly just how necessary he was to the Maou. And besides, though he'd never admit it, all of this supposed expertise was simply an instinctual knee-jerk reaction to how the young Maou made him feel. His passion simply took the form of relentless sexual desire instead of being molded and forced into bouts of useless poetry or art or great deeds of valor.

Well, Wolf thought uncomfortably, sometimes he'd attempt to express his passion for Yuuri with paint. Pity those daubs never elicited the reaction he wanted from his fiancé - not like what they'd just done did.

And also, if he'd subverted all this emotion running rampant through him into political action long ago, he'd probably be the Maou now instead of Shibuya Yuuri, much to Wolfram's inner dismay. But it was true—Yuuri was an idiot with no political savvy and Wolf was the one who had far more experience.

A frightening thought. Gods, no! He'd choose Yuuri over the evils of Shinou-dom any day of the week!

But, still, this exuberant abandon in bed he exhibited was all only natural: how many years now had he been lusting after his wimpy black-eyed King? How many years he had spent waiting, yearning, burning? Yuuri was purely intoxicating, half-boy and half-man, half-Maou and half-village idiot, and all of it way too enticing for a haughty ex-Prince all too well aware of his isolated station and known to be difficult and spoilt besides. Wolf's very few 'affaires of the heart' had not been much more than heavy flirting and none had ended well. True, they'd all seemed real enough at the time but, compared to Yuuri, those swipes at 'true love' were as meaningless as shadow-boxing.

….Except, of course, they'd given Wolf the edge of experience, which he was actively using to keep Yuuri fascinated, rotten schemer that he was.

But this was _real_. It could not be denied: the stink of sweat and drying cum and lavender-scented linens. The arm around him; the flattened nipple an inch from his nose. Words of love were actually unnecessary for Wolfram, though they were surely welcome. It wasn't as though he'd ever leave his Yuuri willingly.

"_Really_ love you," Yuuri's voice repeated, warming to the theme. He nudged Wolf hard in the ribs. "Want you, need you."

The black-haired boy swarmed down Wolf's side in his growing eagerness—_he'd finally said it! He had!--_and forced his nose against his lover's much nicer one, burrowing in to find the edges of Wolf's gorgeous mouth. Wolf automatically turned his head away with an audible 'hmph!"

"A _lot_…..oh, so much, Wolf-chan. Don't you know?"

Yuuri nipped the blonde's pert nose for emphasis. He grinned. His Honey-chan, for all his apparent annoyance, was smiling, ever so faintly, pleased as punch that Yuuri was not totally a wimp and idiot. Yuuri decided a little embarrassment on his stubbornly silent fiancé's part was well worth it. He'd probably pay later, but that was alright. 'Paying' led to fucking; fucking led to Wolf smiling: a really excellent cycle of events.

"Look at me, Wolf. Come on."

Stubbornly, Yuuri's fiancé examined the coverlet, the canopy, the moon through the window. Only Yuuri, who knew Wolf better than anyone, could've seen the faint fond twitch of those lusciously swollen, kiss-bitten lips. But he knew to look for it, now.

"Come on--tell me you love me, Wolfram."

"…No."

Now Wolf-chan was just being difficult. Yuuri found it rather cute. Sometimes 'difficult' was the same as 'endearing'.

Snickering softly, wrestling his still clumsy limbs into position, Yuuri straddled Wolfram squarely and stared down at him, black eyes sharp with a teasing challenge.

"Why? If you don't look at me, I'll think you don't love me. That's not really fair, is it, Wolfram? I love _you_."

The mussed head turned back abruptly and Yuuri was fixed with a narrowed, skeptical stare. Clearly Wolf-chan was wondering what had brought _this_ on. He'd never once, in all the weeks that passed so pleasantly since the night he accepted Yuuri's second proposal, demanded that Yuuri repeat his avowal of tender feelings. Yuuri found it odd at first – he was willing to say it, if embarrassed – but maybe now he understood Wolf's reticence a little. After all, how long had it taken him to say those three words in the first place? No wonder Wolfram had little trust in Yuuri's loving speeches – his warrior wanted action, not shallow protestations that could be denied later.

But he'd made Wolf-chan annoyed with him again. Wolf's eyes crackled with green lightning. His very voice was impatient.

"You're an idiot, wimp, as well as a wimp. Why would you think I don't love you? Have I ever done anything that says I_ don't _love you? Stooopid!"

Yuuri's face fell, just as it had when he was only fifteen. The mannerism was maybe not as adorable to Wolf as it had been three years ago but the muted black gleam in Yuuri's beautiful eyes affected him just as much. He melted, even before Yuuri opened his eyes just that much wider, revealed his hurt.

"…Cause you're mad at me? Maybe? I don't want you to be mad at me, Wolf-chan. Please don't."

Wolfram frowned. Yuuri sounded rather nonchalant in his plea, as if he didn't actually care if his fiancé was fuming, though his dark eyes told a different story. If Yuuri were a dog, Wolf mused, the tip of his tail would be twitching playfully even if his whole demeanor was now noticeably glum. Of course, if Yuuri were a dog, then Wolf would have to pet him and ruffle his silky black-furred ears, making much of him, mainly because, just like Gwendal, he was deeply susceptible to 'cute'. Witness Greta, his Princess and the apple of his eye.

Witness Yuuri, the Demon King of 'Cute'.

Mixed messages again, Wolfram concluded, huffing his impatience with the whole difficult subject and catching at Yuuri's naked shoulders impatiently. Fingers tight, he drew his lover closer, close enough to brush a soft kiss of eternal forgiveness across the Maou's mouth. It didn't matter, whatever nonsense Yuuri came up with; it was all good in the end.

Yuuri took the opportunity to slide his arms around Wolf-chan, hug him lightly, and puff a hot little breath in one ear. The tip of his tongue followed, tracing the intricate ridges as softly as a jeweler polishing filigree.

"Fine," Wolf said breathlessly after a long minute, giving in. "_Whatever_. I'm not angry, Yuuri, but…say it again. Better, yet, prove it, coward, if you dare."

"_Whaat_? Why? I just said it, Wolf-chan! How many times—?"

This was true. He'd certainly babbled the words over and over when Wolf-chan had been riding him. He just said them stone cold sober and completely aware of what he was doing, signing his heart away to another. Restless, Yuuri trailed his lips along the smooth angle of Wolfram's jaw and nibbled, feeling just a little playful again. Dark gold brows arrowed up in a silent questioning of his validity and Wolf cocked his head to glare at Yuuri suspiciously when he didn't instantly jump to providing this 'proof'. Yuuri frowned a bit in response but he certainly wasn't angry or anything—more considering, really, as to how to jolly his love into relaxing. Besides, teasing a shy, blushing Wolf-chan—or an irked, suspicious Wolf-chan—was just too much _fun_.

"Okay, okay," Yuuri sighed, long-suffering. "I love you, ne? Love you, love you, love you. There, happy?"

Wolfram let slip a reluctant half-smile, indicating that he was excessively pleased, of course. But he still shook his head vehemently, glaring down his perfectly straight nose—Yuuri had said it, but he hadn't 'proved' it. Wolfram wanted more of that.

Wolf's top-loftystare was interesting in and of itself, as he was lying back against the pillows and had to look up while still looking down. Yuuri smiled proudly, unable to help himself; Wolf-chan was just so amazing, wasn't he?

"Not _now_, wimp." Yuuri got a kiss for his efforts anyway. "There's nobody here to _tell_, is there?" The Mazoku rolled his eyes back and sniffed through that elegant nose, just like he did when he was actually exasperated.

"Tomorrow, then. At breakfast. In front of everybody." Wolfram curled his mouth maliciously, clearly picturing the faces of their nearest and dearest. Then again, it wasn't as though they hadn't shocked his brothers and mother before—more like on a daily basis, recently. Wolf still recalled fondly being bent over the scramble eggs and sausages but three days before, the one occasion he and Yuuri had actually managed to make it to breakfast earlie4r than everyone else. That had been interesting! The look on his eldest brother's face when he strolled through the door had been worth every instance of habitual disapproval beforehand.

"Down on your knees," Wolfram added, eyes twinkling, "just like Mama-chan told me your Earth fiancé's do all the time when they're telling their fiancés they love them."

Yuuri swallowed his aghast gape. He was old enough, wasn't he, to remain unshocked by what his Mom and Wolfram apparently discussed in private? Yuuri just hoped Mom had painted a decent image of his character – not too 'cute' or too 'wimpy' - if she and Wolf-chan were going to exchange confidences.

"Sheesh! You're tough, Wolf-chan! That's not fair at all; _I'm_ going to be embarrassed and then you'll laugh at me or something," whined the Maou. "Gosh, they'll _all_ laugh at me, damn it. Even Greta."

Wolfram thumped him, though lightly, in silent remonstrance. Wide green eyes told Yuuri Wolf wouldn't actually push it; he was only playing, after all. Yuuri giggled at the pout on his fiancé's lovely mouth and pressed his advantage.

"Besides, _you _never say it anymore, Wolf-chan. It's always _me_."

Wolf-chan bit his lip, teeth tearing open the same split the Maou had healed earlier. Yuuri exhaled in exaggerated impatience at his silence and wedged himself farther into the crevice of Wolfram's still sticky thighs, skin catching, tugging, easing finally as his cock picked up leftover moisture pooled on the firm white belly and the creases of Wolf's delicate balls. Pale lids fell over smoldering emeralds immediately; Wolfram sighed, too, but his was more like a gasp of longing. He raised his knees automatically, clamping them against Yuuri's sides, as if to hold him there forever.

The Maou blinked at the sweet change of expression on his normally stern and serious fiancé's face. Come to think of it, maybe sex itself was a language – maybe Wolf was already telling him what he wanted to hear all the time?

"Why_ is_ that, Wolf-chan? Don't you like saying you love me?"

"I do," Wolfram riposted, "and I don't."

"And what does that mean, Honey-chan?"

Yuuri nipped Wolf-chan's pointy chin, waiting in a crocodilian manner he'd aped from Murata. Wolfram groaned, impatient. He had no intentions of confessing his feelings _again_. Once was enough – or at least, one horribly embarrassing, sickeningly sappy, utterly uncontrolled moment of confession was more than plenty for one Mazoku's lifetime. He stilled blushed whenever he remembered the 'Concubine speech'. He blushed at a lot things, recently. The way Yuuri was looking at him right now, for instance.

Besides, Wolf knew, Yuuri only had to _see _to know his fiancé adored him. He only had to _feel_. It wasn't as if Wolf would ever hold anything back.

"I like hearing it," prodded Yuuri. He ran tickly fingertips down Wolf-chan's ribs.

"That's nice," Wolf murmured perfunctorily, squirming. "Again?"

Wolf wasn't bending one iota; he wanted action, as evident from the questioning intonation in his husky question and insistent way he wrapped one leg around Yuuri's midsection. His hands were trailing up Yuuri's chest now, circling nipples that had grown unbearably hard. The Maou's length twitched against Wolf's thigh, rapidly hardening.

"Not so fast. Say you love me first. Then I might." Narrow obsidian eyes glittered at Wolf in a challenge. An evilly knowing grin twisted the Great Maou's stern and handsome visage into someone older and a great deal more assured.

Even the Maou was prodding at him now, or so it it seemed to an annoyed and hungry Wolfram, judging from the electric blue aura that outlined Yuuri's bare shoulders and crackled across his lengthening hair. Wolf smiled back pleasantly, his voice an edged antidote to the rapidly spreading desire that hazed his emerald eyes golden green. He loved the Maou just as much as he loved his Yuuri – they were the same, were they not? But that was no proper excuse for teasing him, either.

"Ass. Fine, have it your way, wimp."

Wolf knew what to do with Great Maou now, after so much practice. He'd play along. The idiot wimp would be completely at his mercy if he offered himself willingly – which he did, arching his back so his burgeoning cock could graze across Yuuri's flat belly, grabbing the Maou's hands and pressing them against his throbbing nipples, using his white teeth to nip at the Great One's blushing earlobes. In turn, the Maou's well-shaped ears practically rang with the silent shout of Wolfram's lust-ridden loveliness, his unspoken pleas to be ravaged. Maou Yuuri colored becomingly and bit his own lip in admiring gratitude, stroking Wolf's halo'd golden locks tenderly, soothing his precious one as best as he could.

He was so very much in love with his Chosen One, his beloved.

Walfram paused thoughtfully, pleased with the obvious effects of his efforts, and then scrunched up his perfect nose, assuming a reedy falsetto, along with the mannerisms of a certain violet-haired courtier.

"Oh, _Your Majesty," _he warbled_, "_my _adoration_ for you knows no bounds! Your mighty _sword_ cries out for the perfect _sheath!! _Impale me, oh Great Maou, take me--!"

Yuuri's sides shook with stifled laughter as he abruptly shed himself of his alter ego. Wolf was just too funny sometimes—funny-weird, but whatever. He made Yuuri laugh.

Yuuri laid his smiling lips over Wolf-chan's and cut off the saccharine whine at the source, thrusting his tongue down his lover's throat till Wolf groaned and burbled wordlessly with pleasure, twitching restlessly. The Maou drew back, chuckles infusing the additional open-mouthed kisses he slathered down Wolf's neck.

"You're the ass, Wolf-chan," he said to Wolf-chan's shoulder, nibbling it. "You want my 'sword'?"

"Yes…_please_."

Those perfect lips curved into a fond smile but Wolfram's gaze was molten and scorching. He wriggled seductively as Yuuri sucked in a shocking breath, swooping down on Wolf suddenly and repositioning himself so that the knees that clamped around Yuuri's sides flopped apart and the reddened and well-used indentation of his anus was pressed against the base of Yuuri's swollen penis. Yuuri's promised one was ready; always so very ready, the last bout leaving him pliant and soft. Wolf licked his lips in avid anticipation and Yuuri's cock jerked against him, already weeping and glazed with the sodden remnants of their last bout.

"I want you," Yuuri—or maybe it was the Great Maou again—growled. "I want to be in you, Wolf-chan."

Yuuri took the hands that lay trembling against Wolf's chest and placed them carefully against the mattress, seeking support and proper balance. Braced, he reared up, the tops of his thighs thrusting against Wolf-chan's, and shoved hard, so that Wolf brought his bent legs apart even further, drawing them up to expose himself fully.

"Yuuri…" Wolf whined. "Come on—do it now!"

Wolfram was aching with anticipation, the pain centered in his shivering groin. It thrilled him, made his abdominal muscles flex and quiver; caused his own member to stand impossible straight and tall. It was a drugging pain that filled him, a powerful narcotic he craved and begged for. A hand slid round Yuuri's nape thoughtlessly, drawing the Maou closer. He pressed wheedling kisses against Yuuri's chin without knowing it, already rocking in readiness, but the Maou only made ready and then waited, taunting him.

"Yuuri…?" Wolfram opened his eyes. "What? What are you waiting for, wimp?"

The black-eyed Demon King poised above him shrugged his wide shoulders and showed his teeth as he ground his pelvis against Wolf's twisting hips, tormenting him. His cock dangled, sawing at the cleft of Wolf's sensitive ass, and Wolfram did his nimble best to bring himself into contact with it, nails digging into Yuuri's shoulders, face buried now against Yuuri's neck, waves of dizzy pleasure making him tremble below the Maou. The ache within him spread like a fever, consuming him, and his heart throbbed at the thought of all that weight and strength moving purposely inside him. He growled.

"Yuuri!"

"So--how _do_ you want it, Fiancé?" Oh, yes—definitely it was the Great Maou about to fuck his Consort—not just 'Yuuri and Wolfram' after all.

"_To the hilt,_" Wolf ordered, with not the slightest hesitation, and arched up to make it happen if Yuuri wouldn't. He'd had quite enough of being teased.

His sultry purr was an answering challenge to the Maou's prodding. Yuuri's smile matched his fiancé's in rakish wolfishness and then upped the ante another notch. He ground against Wolfram, his pulsing tip sliding forcefully across the quivering Mazoku's sex, smearing it, coming within mere millimeters of penetration. Wolfram whined through his nose, pleading, irate.

Yuuri grinned; he really liked this new way of bickering they'd come up with. Nobody ever lost.

"Itadakimasu, then, my Wolf-chan," he murmured, flexing the muscles that rippled his noticeable biceps and broad shoulders. Wolf moaned, his chin wet with saliva, and swallowed back a whimper. If he wasn't filled with Yuuri soon, he'd die bereft.

"Raise your hips higher," the Maou directed. "Let me in."

"Nnnn!"

Wolf did more than that, eager and panting. The Maou's length was taken in fell swoop, sucked in by the prettiest ass in all Shin Makoku. Yuuri shuddered in fulfillment and plunged forward through the liquid cum still lining his lover's clinging channel from last time, slamming so hard at the last his swollen sac slapped against Wolf's ass-cheeks and the bed reverberated beneath them, echoing.

Wolfram von Bielefeld, proud scion of an ages-old ruling Family, arrogant and lordly warrior that he was, trilled in blithering idiot ecstasy and welcomed every throbbing inch, already angling his ass forward to make sure Yuuri brushed his prostate, and wriggling and pumping and blindly urging Yuuri on in a flurry of motion. Wolfram was in love – love – _love!_ – so magnificent and mind-bogglingly cathartic it swept him away from his carefully held boundaries and washed him up, weak as a kitten, on the shores of eternity.

"Yuuuurrrriii!"

In the language of Wolfram merely using the simple name "Yuuri" meant that all was right with his own private world. It stood for 'forever' and 'always' and 'no one else'. Whenever he said it or called it or screamed it, the inflection and emphasis told the Maou that Wolfram von Bielefeld would only ever exist for him. That's exactly what his name told him right this moment: that Wolf was all his. Forever.

The Maou kissed his beautiful bethrothed, incredibly pleased, incredibly horny, and gladly partaking of all the love and passion offered him wordlessly and without inhibition, and with a flush so adorable even a disapproving Gunter would've fainted dead away, had he been privy. Which, thankfully, he was not.

_Beloved. _

"My love," Yuuri murmured, deep into his rhythm.

"Yuuri!"

"Wolf-chan!"

_Ah, he knew it!_ Yuuri cackled inwardly. Wolf-chan was by no means finished for the night! Thank Shinou for the vigour of the Great Maou, who stirred like steel within him. Thank the heavens for the feast of unearthly pleasures, spread before him, green eyes brilliant in the uneven light. Thank all the old gods for the fervent joining of heated bodies, the act of love which shouted out shamelessly every word they could not—would not--say. Were too shy and young and stupid-silly to say aloud…but they'd get to it, Yuuri knew. One day. And in the meantime, well. In the _meantime_--

Yuuri absolutely could not _wait another blasted minute _to get fucking married! There just had to be a way to hurry the whole damned process up!


End file.
